There were 26 of them, altogether. High-school kids. Not one cellphone among them. Neither were there TVs, airpods, gaming devices, or tablets. No tech at all.

It was a party. An apartment downtown. The kids gathered here sometimes. To blow off steam. To socialize in-person. They heard their ancestors used to do this. Their ancestors called it “hanging out.”

What a weird term.

Some teens were cooking in the kitchen, using cookbooks made of actual paper. They were books manufactured before the paper bans of ‘84.

Most kids had never seen a paper book before. They had only heard of them. Other kids were lounging in various nooks and corners, drawing, writing, or making art on their black-market notepads.

Light music came from a record player someone scored in an antique store. The music was Louis Armstrong. They had never heard anything like it. In fact, they had never met anyone who could actually play an instrument. Today, most kids interested in music used AI-composition software. Although in the mall there was a humanoid bot who could play violin.

So they were breaking the law. Gathering here. Being without phones. Going phoneless was a crime in their society. A misdemeanor.

Mandatory phone laws had been established long before they were born. The laws were intended for safety. “Real-name registration,” “ID-linked SIM cards,” and “biometric data” had only been concepts 50 years ago, but now they were a global thing.

Even so. It’s a well-known fact that teens rebel.

Teens must rebel. It’s their DNA. Teens have been rebelling ever since two teens named Adam and Eve got the ball rolling.

These particular teens called themselves the “Luddites.” A name they found an antique history book. The first Luddites, they read, were rebels from old England, textile workers and craftspeople, at the dawn of the Industrial Age.

The original Luddites refused technology because they believed it de-skilled the labor force, reduced wages, and produced poor quality workmanship.

So these kids started throwing phoneless parties at remote locations. In honor of their forbears. At first the parties were just a novelty. But then they grew into something more.

It went like this. A teen would arrive, deposit his or her phone into a basket, then receive a receipt for the device. Then, a decoy would carry all phones into the middle of nowhere, so they couldn’t be tracked by parents, law-enforcement, and safety bots.

The parties were actually rather serene. The teens naturally became social, funny, and more laser focused without their devices. They rediscovered their own personalities, so to speak. They rediscovered their own attention span.

There were other rules, of course. For starters, you couldn’t bring your behavior meds to the party. All teens were on meds of some kind. Meds were mandatory. You went to the doc at age 5 and he put you on something. A behavioral sedative. It helped your parents deal with you. It killed your urge to play outside. There were also meds for when you turned 12 to dull your interest in romance.

But that’s a whole different story.

So anyway, going phoneless was like being born again. Like removing the digital leash you’d been born with. Your helicopter moms and dads couldn’t track you. No teachers could interrupt you with random texts about homework.

Moreover, going phoneless made dating SO exciting.

This generation of teens had only ever known smart-dating. Which was a complicated business using apps and digital messaging. You swiped left or right, scrolling through digital photo albums. Then you messaged a person based on their subsequent hotness.

After which, you underwent an elaborate social-media courtship—all online—by sending memes, selfies, and various emojis of smiley-faced excrement.

It took months to graduate to an actual phone call. And IF you got this far—big “if”—the next step was to meet in person. This rarely happened.

But at this party there were no obstacles between sexes. No rules. No distractions. All you did was “hang out.”

Over the last decades, the Luddites had grown into a massive worldwide underground movement. They were in every school, every city, every country on the globe. Young people defied the almighty phosphorescent blue screen, and dedicated themselves to the pursuit of simplicity, truth, human contact, and love.

The reason was simple, human beings were made to be human beings.

But then…

The party came to an abrupt halt. There was a loud knock on the door. “POLICE! OPEN UP!”

Everyone in the apartment froze.

The officers unlatched the smart-lock deadbolt with an override key. The door opened.

Outside the doorway stood 26 pairs of worried, heartsick parents, along with law-enforcement. The parents rushed to their teens, took their children in their arms, and cried, bathing their kids with their own tears.

“You scared us!” said the parents. “We had no idea where you were! We couldn’t track you!”

“You’re grounded, mister,” said one parent. Which was redundant. The kid had been grounded since birth.

“We didn’t know whether you were safe or hurt!” said one concerned mother, weeping. “Don’t you EVER go without your phone again!”

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” said one of the officers. “This is just a phase kids go through.”